


just like the present

by tosca1390



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Manga)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 19:03:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>All of it dominoes back here.</i> Manga-based, R arc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just like the present

*

With her hands clasped in front of her, Usagi watches, and waits. It’s a soft day, warmer than she expects for late spring. 

She should learn to stop expecting normalcy, she thinks. Mamoru is quiet and Minako anxious; their energies press on her shoulders, settle against her skin. She is already tired and she’s only just woken up to this news. She’s not ready for this day to begin again. 

“We should go now,” Minako says at, the corners of her mouth drawn down into a frown. “Who knows how much of a head start Chibi-Usa has.”

Usagi looks away, towards the fence edging the lawn. She can feel Mamoru’s eyes on her, and she doesn’t want this right now. She wants to go back to bed and back to a time when her future child isn’t living in her house and her friends aren’t in another time. Her chest feels as if it might split open under the scrutiny. 

“I’ll run up for the brooch and key,” she says at last, voice too soft in the sunshine. Her mother is in the kitchen; she can hear the clink and clatter of dishes for a breakfast she won’t eat. It’s like this more often than not, now.

“Let us go,” Luna pipes up from near Mamoru’s feet. She and Artemis bound past her through the cracked-open front door. 

Glancing over, Usagi meets Minako’s steady gaze. Mouth curling, Minako shrugs and slips past her. “You know, cats,” she mumbles as she passes. Her fingers catch at Usagi’s for just a moment, a tight press; a solidarity she always feels. 

Then, she and Mamoru are alone for the first time in what feels like days. 

Wetting her lips, Usagi tilts her chin up, meeting his eyes. She will be braver than she feels. The memory of her outburst from yesterday curls through her mind. Her throat flushes, the warmth creeping towards her cheeks. 

“Are you all right?” Mamoru asks after a moment of silence, the air thickening between them. 

Her fingers curl into the pleats of her skirt. “Why wouldn’t I be?” she asks in return, voice steady. 

He steps towards her, his fingers clasping at her wrists. His skin is overwarm against hers, his face lined with worry. “What you said, yesterday—“

“It was a long day,” she says steadily, swallowing down the bile at the back of her throat. “I was tired. Really, it’s nothing,” she adds with a small smile, sliding her hands into his. 

His mouth curls downward, his gaze narrowing. She tries to keep her face steady, keep the tremors from her fingers. He doesn’t believe her; he knows her too well for it now. But there is an uncertainty awaiting them a thousand years in the future, and their daughter has run away. Today, she can’t be selfish. 

So she leans up on her tiptoes and presses a glancing kiss to his mouth, just as Minako comes back out onto the porch, the cats at her heels. “It’s okay, Mamo-chan,” she murmurs, as his hands tighten over hers. 

“Whoops,” Minako says, not sounding sorry at all. Pushing her brooch and the time key into Usagi’s hands, she glances between them both before she strides towards the sidewalk, hair flouncing behind her.

“Usako,” he begins again, gaze very dark and sharp.

“It’s okay,” she repeats, steady and controlled. 

They leave her home behind, heading to the park for another trip into the shaky future. _It’s okay_ , she thinks to herself, over and over; because the present can’t be as unstable as the future is. She doesn’t know where to stand, if that’s the case. 

*

Every moment in the future feels like she’s on thin ice. 

There are moments and pieces of the whole experience that she can’t fit together, can’t hold inside of her. Demande is one violation after another, and Chibi-Usa as Black Lady – it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. There is Pluto, _dead_ , and there is something that rings falsely in her that she cannot touch, and then, her future self; a self she can’t stretch towards just yet. 

Sacrificing the crystal – herself with it – she doesn’t give it a second thought. It’s too much of a natural impulse, she thinks. When she wakes up, it is to a new brooch and a regenerated crystal, and the knowledge that it doesn’t end. She will grow older and become a queen and continue to battle and then one day she will just stop. All of it dominoes back here, to this moment on a regenerated Earth and her friends surrounding her and the smallest of glimpses of a future self she has yet to comprehend. 

She smiles when they leave, when she is so tired she can barely stand and her friends are battered and Mamoru is carrying their sleeping daughter with the last of everything. She smiles, because it’s expected; they won, and the worlds of the past and the future are safe once more. There are tears; they are more than just exhaustion, more than relief. 

Usagi returns to the past and wonders how they move on, how _she_ moves on. 

*

“You’re not okay,” Minako says in the corridor. The girls stand behind her, watching Usagi. 

Usagi leans against the shut door to Mamoru’s apartment. She can hear him inside, dishes clattering and the sink filling. It’s been twelve or so hours since they’ve all returned; it feels like longer, and shorter. Lunch had been a strange mix of silence and chatter, all full of relief. But they are edging around her, tiptoeing, and she can’t place it in the larger picture. 

“I’m fine,” she says at last. Her fingertips are still raw from the power surge from her future self. There are scars still knitting together. “Really.”

“Stop it,” Rei murmurs, shaking her head. 

“Is it Chibi-Usa?” Minako presses, gaze sharp. 

Fingers curling into fists, Usagi drops her chin to her chest. She thinks of her once and future child, asleep in the guest room still. “It’s not – it’s not anything I can put into words,” she says at last. “It’s nothing bad, I’m just –“

A cool hand wraps around her elbow. Ami, she thinks. “You need rest too, Usagi. We’re all still tired,” Ami says soothingly. 

“It was tough on you,” Makoto says evenly. 

“On all of us,” Usagi says quickly, lifting her eyes to all of theirs. Her cheeks are flushed. 

There are dark circles lingering under their eyes, and the strain of battle around their mouths. For the first time they look older than they ought to, and it hurts her, a sharpness at her heart. All she really wants to do is protect them from it – every time she can’t, it feels like a failure.

“I’m sorry,” she blurts out at last. The hallway is too close around them. 

The four of them look at each other, and then back at her. “For what?” Minako asks. 

“I should have done better,” Usagi murmurs, pressing a hand to her face. “I should – you shouldn’t have been taken, I shouldn’t have –“

The weight of the four of them together presses her back against the door. She can feel their hands on her hair and shoulders and waist, Rei’s cheek pressed to hers. The burn of tears lingers behind her eyes. 

“There wasn’t anything you could have done,” Ami says softly. 

Makoto’s cheek presses to the top of her head. “And you saved us. You did what you had to do.”

Usagi shuts her eyes and lets them hold her up for a moment. Her hands close at wrists not her own. The five of them must be a strange sight in the hallway, she thinks. “I could have –“

Someone pinches her in the arm, hard. “Give yourself a break,” Rei says from her left. 

“You’re always too hard on yourself,” Makoto adds. 

Eyes meeting Minako’s, Usagi bites at the inside of her lip. “I want to be better,” she says quietly, watching carefully. 

Minako smiles, her eyes still too serious. Her hand fusses through Usagi’s hair, smoothing the long blonde ponytail over her shoulder. “You’re always enough, Usagi,” she says softly. 

She has to close her eyes and breathe as they hug and sway in front of Mamoru’s door. They are solid and real and it is as close to a normal moment as they may ever get. The brooch in her pocket feels heavier than it used to; now, with a future murky and shimmering before them all, she knows it never really ends. 

Finally, she goes back inside the apartment. She listens through the door as they giggle at the end of the hallway, waiting for the elevator. Her fingertips feel cold, numb. She leans against the door, hair falling loose at her cheeks. The wood is cool against her fists.

“Usagi?” 

There’s a strange tinge of worry in Mamoru’s voice. She can’t stand it. _That’s enough_ , she thinks, pushing off the door and walking deeper into the apartment. “They’re off,” she says as she passes the kitchen, giving him a little wave. 

“You were out there a while,” he calls. 

She sits on the couch and pulls the brooch from her skirt pocket, turning it in her fingers for a moment. “Decompressing,” she calls back, mouth tight. It’s shining in the afternoon light; the whole apartment is warm, diffused and soft. She can remember the first time she was here, how sharp and clinical the whole place felt. 

“You’re quiet.”

Her hands tuck over the brooch and settle in her lap. “Am I?” she asks him with a sunny smile. It stretches too hard at the corners of her mouth.

Mamoru watches her carefully from the doorframe of the kitchen into the living room. She sits with her legs tucked under her, curled into a corner of his couch. The pleats of her skirt shift and slide over her knees. It’s the middle of the day, Tokyo warm and bright with afternoon sun outside. 

“Yeah, you are,” he says, hands tucked into his pockets. 

She shrugs. Her teeth press into the inside of her cheek. “Maybe I’m trying to take after you more.”

“Who said that was a good idea?” he asks dryly. 

There’s a temptation to mention their daughter, the preferences already established and displayed; but it would take them back, too far back. The memory of her explosion at the park lingers and sours in her mind. She wants to be here, now. Her mouth settles into an easier sort of curl, her fingers tapping against the brooch. 

“It was nice to have them here for lunch,” she says instead. “Thank you.”

“I’m happy to have them here. You know that,” he says. 

Usagi looks up at him, toes curling. He’s watching her intently; his gaze has always unnerved her, and now, now – 

“I’m sorry,” he says abruptly. 

Her brow furrows. “Why?”

The tension radiates from his shoulders, his arms as they cross over his chest. He looks distinctly uncomfortable, his gaze set away from hers. “I couldn’t find you. I couldn’t protect you. I failed, and I’m sorry,” he says through his teeth. 

She wets her lips and rises from the couch, setting the brooch on the coffee table. “I couldn’t have done anything without you, and the girls. You’re not giving yourself enough credit,” she says with a small smile. 

Jaw tight, he still keeps his gaze to the floor. She can see the tension in the lines of his arms, bared past the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt. “No. No, I – I messed up,” he says quietly. “With letting you get taken, and Black Lady, and – “

He stops very abruptly. She stays a little ways away from him, her cheeks warm with a flush. Her hands smooth over her skirt, catching at the stray strands of her hair. There is something trying to scratch out of his throat and into the air; she knows he needs the time for it. 

It’s how they work. 

“All I want to do is help you, and sometimes I think I do the exact opposite,” he says at last, head bowed slightly. “I want to be better. You deserve it.”

She can’t do anything but laugh a little, the pressure inching away from her chest just the slightest. “I just said the same thing to the girls in the hall,” she says, voice thickening. 

He looks at her then, gaze wide and dark. Her shoulders settle in and out of a shrug and she smiles, reaching out to cover his hands with hers. “I’m scared,” she says at last, as their fingers curl together and he touches his forehead to hers. “I’m scared of all of it. I’m still scared of Chibi-Usa, really.”

“Me too,” he says, voice very low. 

Shutting her eyes, she lets her weight lean against him. He is warm against her, his hands pulling her in. “And we’re not there yet. Definitely not there yet. But I think that if I have you, and the girls, we’ll get there eventually. And that makes me feel better,” she finishes softly, breathing him in. 

His hands slide away from hers to cup her cheeks, his fingers framing her face and brow. She opens her eyes, watching him. His face is very close to hers, his eyes dark. 

“What I told you yesterday is the truth; I may not have any power, but I’ll do anything I can to help you. I know the girls will too,” he says. He is serious and steady and almost too much, but it is just the same Mamoru she has known the whole time, the one she loves. 

Inhaling, she slides her arms around his neck and rises just a bit onto her bare toes, her mouth catching his. “I know,” she breathes against his lips. 

His hands slide through her hair, loosening the buns, and suddenly he has her pulled against him, stretched along the length of him. His mouth is insistent over hers, teeth pressing into her lip. She digs her fingers into the nape of his neck and sighs, the press of her hips easy against his.

When his mouth turns and his hands slide over her spine to the waist of her skirt, she sighs. 

*

He tries to get her to his bedroom. She’s never been patient, though. 

Instead, she pulls him against her when he turns her against the wall. Her skirt is already rucked over her hips and their mouths are hard on each other’s. 

“Usako, no –“ he murmurs, voice very low. It reverberates against her skin and nearly into her bones. She can feel the flush of his energy against hers. He has power inside of him, no matter what he says about it. Sometimes, she thinks about telling him how she can feel him, every part of him. 

Instead, she sinks her teeth into his lip and pulls his hips against hers. Her thighs press at either side of his hips, her heels at the small of his back. 

“Mamo-chan, I don’t care,” she says softly. Her hair falls loose around her face and waist, catching against her arms. It’s everywhere, and he catches his hands in it as they slide over her waist towards her thighs. 

“We’ve never done this right,” he mutters, his mouth at her jaw. Her panties are cast off at their feet, his belt and zippers undone. 

She laughs then, her fingers digging into the loose gaping of his shirt. They’re lazy with their clothes, but never with their touches. “I don’t think right has anything to do with it. It’s been – it’s been too long,” she says softly. The color is hot and heavy as it flushes her throat and cheeks. 

He looks at her, his fingers stilling at the bare junction of her hip and inner thigh. She’s already wet, from the slide of his mouth over hers and the curl of his hands over her breasts. Her toes curl as his eyes darken, heavy on hers; she does not look away. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, voice hoarse. 

Her head falls back against the wall as an annoyed groan rips through her throat. “Mamo-chan, _stop_ ,” she says.

His mouth curls at her jaw, the soft flesh near her ear. There is his hand finally between her thighs and she moans, low and soft, when he touches her, fingers sliding against slick flesh. His thumb circles her clit, slow and teasing. 

“I want to do right by you,” he murmurs. 

“You obviously do. We’ve seen it,” she drawls. The warmth is there, unfurling in her belly as two fingers curl and stretch inside of her. Her skin is hot and flushed, sweat gathering at the small of her back, the line of her throat. 

Mamoru bites at her throat. His hair falls across her skin, her mouth. She tucks her fingers into the lines of his chest and digs and sighs, her hips moving against his hand. Sometimes, she thinks she should be shy; with him, it’s impossible. He knows her, and she knows him – it makes all the difference. 

“I don’t care about kings and queens,” he says against her skin, voice very quiet. She shivers, goosebumps curling over her skin. “I just want you.”

Her hands slide over his chest to his throat, fingers spanning the strong line of muscle and skin. She brings his face level to hers, measuring the darkness of his gaze, the flush of his skin. “I know,” she murmurs, leaning into kiss him once more. She slides her tongue across his lips, soft and warm. 

It’s fast, after that. When he slides into her, thick and sticky, his damp fingers curling and sliding around her thigh, she still bites her lip at the stretch and pull, the color high on her face. But his mouth is soft and he murmurs her name over and over, the name only he has for her; she slides her fingers into the soft damp of his hair and shuts her eyes with it. Their mouths linger near each other, the air thick and hot and shared. 

It is here she can feel it, the layers of his energy between hers. They are intertwined, always. 

*

“It’s not this simple,” he says later. 

They sit on the couch, dressed once more. Her cheek is pillowed at his shoulder, her legs tucked over his lap. His arm is a heavy comfort across her waist. 

“I know,” she says, her hands smoothing over the wrinkles in his shirt. She made these; she likes to see them there, to see him less than starched and proper. 

Mamoru leans over and kisses her forehead. His other hand slides over her knees, keeping her close. “Chibi-Usa – I don’t know if she’s going back, or not, or –“

She leans up and kisses him, her lips soft on his. It’s quiet, easy. It feels like it should. “She’ll let us know,” she says. “It’ll be what it is.”

“That’s very zen of you,” he teases. 

Usagi smiles, and shrugs. “It would be nice to have some time for just us.”

He slides his hand over her still-loose hair, fingers weaving in the lengths of it. It pools heavily around her, but he gathers it in his hand, taking some of the weight. He’s good at that. 

“You’ll miss her, I think,” he says after a moment. 

“Probably,” she says. “But I don’t want to be her mother yet. I have other things to do.”

“We both do,” he says quietly. 

She kisses him once again, a soft brief glance of their mouths, before she tucks back against his shoulder. His arms circle her, his cheek against her hair. 

The brooch remains on the coffee table, a reminder. 

*


End file.
